


Fire Emblem Three Houses Families

by tigereyes45



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, Multi, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Secret Relationship, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: A collection of short stories about the families of Fire Emblem Three Houses. The stories will cover several different families, couples, and situations. As well as be affected by each of the main four different endings of the game. Requests are open and always being taken. Will include some chapters based on multiple different couples. Requests are open in the comments of this collection.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Raphael Kirsten, Maya Kirsten/Ignatz Victor, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. The Yellow Painters' Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it took me a bit to get this collection started but I had a lot of ideas for multi-chaptered fics for this game unlike I did for the other two I've written collections like these for.

Lorenz stands at the back of the rows of seats set out before him for the wedding. Holding his cup of ale close he watches as everyone finds their seats. Ignatz waits patiently at the front with a huge smile on his face. The arch behind him carved by Hilda and painted by him and his soon to be wife. Lorenz takes a few steps back from the crowd. He stops once the back of his suit hits a tree. Quickly making sure his drink doesn’t spill, Lorenz hunches over it. Brown droplets slide through his fingers.

“Damn.”

“You okay there Lorenz.”

The noble doesn’t bother looking up as he straightens. “Yes, of course, I am Raphael. Shouldn’t you be standing up there with Ignatz?”

“Ah probably. I’ve never been to a wedding before. Ignatz mentioned something about being a groomsman but stopped once Maya said they wouldn’t have any or bridesmaids. They tried to keep it all simple.”

Simple was one word for the wedding. It was taking place only a few feet away from the back entrance of the inn that Raphael’s family had started. The same inn he had given up being a knight to run. It was a modest establishment. From here the wood holds a cheery sunny disposition. The perfect background for the lovers. There had been talk of it being painted. Perhaps even by the happy couple. Some of Raphael selling it and returning to his dream. Claude had been very insistent that he was going to help Raphael add thirty more rooms to the inn. That way it could become a real business for him. Lorenz’s fingers begin to stick to his cup. He tries not to frown and slowly pulls them back. The cup floats uncomfortably pressed between the tips of his fingers.

“How peculiar.”

“I guess if you say so. Maybe commoners just have different weddings then nobles.”

Lorenz nods and takes a drink. Differences were expected between the classes, but doubt about that being one of them was cemented firmly in his mind. The music quiets down as Maya appears just on the other side of Raphael. A few loud whistles fly as ruder guests start to clap. It was as if none of them had been to a wedding before. Lorenz tries hard not to roll his eyes as he watches the bride proceed to make her way down. Her grandfather walks a few steps behind playing a flute-like instrument. Maya’s blonde, curly hair was pulled up and back out of her face. Curls far longer than Raphael’s but so similar.

His fingers are carefully pulled free from the cup. Lorenz looks down to see Raphael wasn’t even watching his sister. Instead, he takes Lorenz’s cup and sets it down in the grass between their feet. He leans over with an aged cloth. Calling it a torn rag would be more apt a description for it. The edges were frayed, and yellowing. Tenderly Raphael wipes the beer off. Lorenz looks away to hide his blushing.

“You know you could’ve just said something when you spilled your drink.”

His eyes trained on the couple at the front. Forcibly he swallows the lump in his throat. Lorenz doesn’t bother to point out that most of the drink had already dried into a sticky mess. Raphael starts to rub a little harder as Maya looks out. Lorenz smiles nervously as she spies them. He’s unsure if it was from how her brother looked, or the fact he was very clearly nervous, but Maya Kirsten just smiled knowingly and turned back to Ignatz. The groom offers an understanding look. Lorenz couldn’t tell why but that smile upset him more than Raphael cleaning his hands without being asked.

“You know. I was surprised you came today Lorenz.” Raphael slows down. Lorenz looks over to see why he had stopped and if it was possible to free his hands now. With the goofiest grin on his face. Carefully, as if Lorenz was made of glass, he moves the rag away. Raphael cups Lorenz’s hands into one of his large palms and looks them over.

“Well, I couldn’t turn down an invitation from two of my former classmates. What would the other nobles say.” His heart begins a one-man march on its own inside of his chest.

“Oh right, the other nobles.” Raphael’s face falls. Lorenz looks away to see Hilda and Claude were still sitting in the front row by the professor. Marianne and Bernadetta sit right behind them. Suddenly, as if blown away in the gentle breeze, Raphael’s hand is gone.

“With Hilda and Claude comin’ I guess you couldn’t say no.” He tries to smile but it falters. Lorenz gives him a side glance before pursing his lips together. His hands crave for something to hold again. Anything to fill the empty space Raphael recoiling away leaves behind.

“Well, that’s not the only reason.”

“Nah it’s fine Lorenz. Ignatz and I are just happy you’re here.”

Lorenz tries not to look at the older man standing right behind Maya. “Your grandfather was less than pleased.”

“He knows your not your dad. He just needs time.”

“I understand. I will admit I was always surprised that you weren’t angry with me when we met. I was more than rude and after I learned about your parents from Ignatz I never-”

Raphael rests a hand on Lorenz’s shoulder, cutting him off. “You aren’t your father. I mean it, Lorenz. None of that was your fault.” Raphael squeezes gently. His thumb starts to draw circles into his shoulder blade. Carefully, with practice, as if he was casting a spell of protection around him. Lorenz tries not to laugh at the idea. Raphael had always been subpar at magic, but his strength often proved to be the best protection in their many battles. “I’m just glad that you’re here. After the last time we talked, you-”

Maya and Ignatz kiss. The crowd cheers. Lorenz tries to follow Raphael’s gaze as he looks over. Yet the young lord’s head wouldn’t move. He watches as yellow eyes gleam in the shade of the trees. It was like watching the sunrise for the first time after a long night. Piercingly they break the shade, brightening up the entire wedding in a way Lorenz never thought possible.

“Raphael, I-” He freezes as Raphael looks back at him with a look of pure joy. With a cough, Lorenz reclaims his consciousness. “I’ve decided I will be staying at your inn for a while longer.” He offers his hand. “If you have room for me.”

Somehow the man’s smile grows wider. He wraps Lorenz into a tight hug. The nobleman relaxes in his arms. “We always have room for you,” Raphael promises lifting Lorenz up in the air and spinning him. Their feet hit against their cups in the grass. He accepts the fact that they were most likely spilling into the grass as Raphael continues. The young lord rests his head against Raphael’s shoulder. He was still as warm as Lorenz remembered. Too soon Lorenz is cold again, and back on his feet.

“Oh man, I’m sorry Lorenz. Let me get you another drink.” With a hand on Raphael’s shoulder this time he was able to keep him still.

“No, don't worry about it, Raphael. Can we perhaps find that room for me now? The rest of your possible patrons are distracted at the moment.”

Raphael holds Lorenz’s hand. The two walk back to the inn. Later he knows there will be many jokes. He may never hear the end of them. For years to come, it will be the moment Claude holds over his head. For once, Lorenz doesn’t mind it. After all, how could someone not follow the sun?


	2. The Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard rules her empire like a captain runs a tight ship. Which allows for few moments of peace for her to spend with her son, Titus. Of course, she couldn't just enjoy some quiet with her child.

Edelgard’s hair stands on end as a gentle wind bristles against her skin. She grips the railing between her and the castle’s garden tighter. Her moment of respite was under a constant attack despite the guarantee that Hubert was handling the last of the castle’s visitors right now. He had been working so hard lately and yet he still willingly takes on more. This fact shouldn’t surprise her. He had always been that way, but the years had not been kind to him. Even less so then they had been to her or Byleth after the war. Edelgard sighs as her nails dig into the railing. Iron smacking against wood calls her attention. She tries to smile as she watches her son practice poorly with an iron sword.

The hair on Edelgard's neck stands on end as a gentle wind bristles against her skin. She grips the railing between her and the castle's garden tighter. Goosebumps fight their way up along her arms. Willing herself to stay calm she focuses on the only soul with her. Her moment of respite was under a constant attack despite the guarantee that Hubert was currently handling the last of the castle's visitors right now. He had been working so hard lately, and yet he still, always, willingly takes on more. She shouldn't be surprised by it at this point of course.

He had always been that way, but the years had not been kind to him. Even less so then they had been to her, or Byleth after the war. Edelgard sighs as her nails dig ever deeper into the railing. By now it must be marred with marks from her far too frequent anxious mullings in this garden. Iron smacking against wood calls out for her attention. With a smile she willingly gives it. It was strained but hopefully, her son was too caught up in his training to notice. Titus still fights poorly with his sword, even against the wooden dummies they've set up.

The flat side of his weapon bounces off a wood arm again and again as sweat begins to form along the edge of his thin blonde eyebrows. They glisten in the sunlight, bright against his dark skin. He had insisted she take a break from the court to watch him train. Supposedly he had been improving well under Caspar's tutelage. As Edelgard watches him continue to fail at swinging the weapon without any sign of correct form. She would have to send for Byleth later. Perhaps they would have some free time to train her son. Titus pauses in his meaningless swinging to push back his dyed orange bangs.

She still doesn't understand why he wanted to add color to his hair out of nowhere. He has a habit of doing random things with no obvious purpose except for when it's something that gets under someone's nerves. Just like his father used to. With a big smile, he waves at her again. Clearly believing his mediocre attacks as impressive moves. She would never tell him otherwise. He chucks it off to his age. He's only twelve and her own skills with an ax at that age. Perhaps she should give him a bow like he asked for his birthday. As loathsome as she was to give in to his unnecessary whims, if he proves skilled at archery then at least he would still have a way of protecting himself. Of course, his knife lessons with Hubert wouldn't end either.

"Caspar says I'm getting faster!" Titus gives the sword a few more practice swings.

Titus' vibrant green eyes were a shade or two lighter than his father's. Though his dirty blonde hair fell straight like her own. Typically it rests to his shoulder but was currently held up in a loose ponytail. It bounces against the back of his neck as he jumps back. The iron sword in his hand clashes with the dummy again. As it almost falls over, she's hit with a wave of thanks that he had listened to her and move the dummies away from the grey tea table this time. All the painted flowers in the world couldn't hide the very clear cut in the wood he had left in it with his weapon from last time.

As she remembers the training disaster fondly her eyes catch sight of movement. Slightly, barely at all, the bushes near the grey table move. The emperor keeps her strained smile on her face. Slowly she removes one of her hands from the railing. Slipping it down her side as if to rub it, her fingers stretch out for her hidden dagger. Her fingers just manage to curl around its hilt as a hand covers her own.

The hand pushes her own tighter against her weapon. As she considers throwing her head back, a chest pushes up against her back. Leather pushes her hair off her back. As soon as her skin was exposed their face was in her neck. Only one soul would dare approach her this way. One trickster who never learned to use the front door. Edelgard grits her teeth.

Titus spins around on his heels. She can't tell if he had sensed his father, or if a sound had made him known. Perhaps it was the sudden movement that had earned Titus' reaction. His sword was raised. With one foot behind him, he was ready for a fight. One day he might actually have to be in one. Today wasn't the day. As soon as Titus was ready he was throwing his sword to the side again.

"Father!"

"My little scamp!" Claude laughs heartily against her neck. The goosebumps from earlier melt away as his breath warms her chest. He doesn't bother to look up at her son. Their son. No his attention was diverted. His breath keen on upsetting her as his fingers slowly peel her own off her dagger's hilt. As he pries her last finger away he hugs her tighter. As if he couldn't really hold her until there was no way for her to kill him. Even though they both knew she didn't need a weapon to land a killing blow. The King of Almyra was no fool after all.

"I hope the people haven't been giving you too much trouble."

"This is my kingdom, Claude. What are you doing out of yours?"

"Visiting my son, and hoping to have an opportunity to discuss some matters with you." What could he have to discuss with her? He already refused to pledge Almyra to the empire as he had with the Alliance before she took it.

"How long have you been here?"

She can feel his lips move along her skin. He was smiling wider now. Casually he steps in front of her now. His hand still holds her in a firm grip. Claude was wearing a merchant's disguise. His Almyrian headband was the only piece out of sorts with his costume. A plain, formal, orange outfit that she can't help but wonder if he got from Ignatz, or even Raphael.

"In the kingdom? About a week before I arrived at your domineering castle." He leans forward. Stopping when his face was only mere inches from her own. The scent of spices, of leather, and wyverns. In fact, the wyvern smell was so powerful she wonders how she missed it before when he was behind her. Probably the same way she almost missed the rose-scented soap smell coming off of him. That last one was faint, but she knew it well. It was her soaps.

"My loyal wyvern makes the trip shorter then any horse could." He sounds so proud of himself.

"I mean in this castle."

The fool has the audacity to smile smugly.

"Why just now of course? Do you truly believe someone could stay in the castle for more then a hour without Hubert knowing?"

"No. I know of only one person who could. He is the king who insists on these informal meetings when he seeks an audience." Later she would figure out just how he managed to stay hidden this time. Her usual methods of interrogation always work with him.

"You're telling me this is your first time seeing our son since your arrival and you didn't immediately move to greet him. You have your ways of getting under my skin Claude but I've known you long enough that I've noticed a few things about you. You're smart, so you always have a plan. Also, you've been here enough to know your way around, yet you still had the audacity to use my tub and soaps to bathe." Finally, his smile falters. Titus stands with a look of utter fear on his face behind his father. "Besides that, the first thing you always do when you arrive is go to Titus. Hugging, holding, sometimes you just press your hands against his face, but you always run to your son before anything else." She closes the rest of the space between them. "It's one of your few endearing traits."

Edelgard pushes him against the railing. "So how long have you been meeting with our son in secret?"

Claude throws his hands behind his head. Casually he leans into the railing as if he hadn't just been forced up against it.

"So possessive, but I have to give it to you Edelgard. Your mind is as sharp as ever. Guess I shouldn't expect anything else from you by this point."

"Dad?"

"The game's up Titus. No worries it's probably just your old man who'll end up in trouble for this one." Titus drops his sword and runs over to them. The way he looks up at Claude was the same way she used to look up to Byleth. A leader who could do no wrong. Guidance in a world where just that could guide you right or lead you straight off the path of becoming strong.

"A few days. He's my son as well E. There may be a day he unites Almyra with your empire. Some day in the far off future where he does the exact thing you have been angling for since day one of our reputable meetings."

"You've made your point Claude but if you wanted to see him all you had to do was ask."

"You wouldn't let me have the freedom I would prefer to possess as a father. Can you blame me for taking a few liberties here and there?"

"I do."

"We can discuss the finer details later. For right now," Claude releases her hand. He turns with the grace of a dancer. Focusing all of his attention on Titus as a professor might a struggling student. "Titus I see you are still training with swords. I should show you how to use a bow while I'm here."

Of course, he had been the influence behind Titus' request. She should have expected he had a more direct effect on her son then the indirect one. She had assumed Titus just wanted to feel closer to his father. To embody him in some way other than his appearance.

"How long will you be here father?"

"Not long. There are some problems on the border I need to talk to your mother about."

Another ploy of theirs. How long did they work on this script to appeal towards her sense of pity? As they stand next to each other their similarities are clear as day. Ignoring their play she considers them closely. Titus stood with a lack of tension in his shoulders that Claude had always managed to keep, even when fighting for his life. His skin was barely any lighter then Claude’s and her arms were long like his. Never was it harder to ignore their obvious connection then when Claude made his constant presence known. The fact he can visit anytime he wants without her or Hubert finding him didn’t need to be rubbed in more but the King will take whatever he can get any bit of joy from.

"Can we eat dinner together tonight?" Claude pats Titus' head before cupping his cheek. He raises Titus’ head and for a moment Claude looks genuinely happy.

“Yes, we’ll have dinner tonight."

“I did not agree to that.” Edelgard raises her voice. The edge cuts sharp between them as if she had just conjured a canyon and thrown the two to either side.

“You haven’t yet.” Claude was sure she would, which only makes her wonder what his news is more. "I gave you the key to my kingdom one day. The least you can allow me is to have a dinner."

“First, let’s test out some bows.” The two run past Edelgard into her castle and Edelgard wish her son didn’t have two crests, but she could never bring herself to regret this strange relationship they have. Those moments of intense connection that are so rare and far between. The few times she can be so emotionally vulnerable 


	3. Hushed Contentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth isn't sure what to do to help comfort Byleth after the loss of her father. He does have one idea. It can't be worse than doing nothing.

Pacing was a way for Seteth to think. The constant, steady repetition of moving, doing anything keeps his body at ease as his mind races even faster then he could move. For a little over an hour he has been at this. One may assume he's biding his time for something, but in truth nerves have driven him to this point. Nerves and having to find some ounce of patience forced him into his current pacing race.

An hour has passed since he started arming up the old, worn brown blanket. It wasn't torn up. Not at all! In fact he had spent several years making sure to carefully wash and care for the old blanket. It used to be one of Flayn's favorites. He wasn't the sort of father who could easily be rid of his daughter's old stuff. Even when her interests had long since moved on.

Of course it was by no request of Flayn's that he had gone digging through a chest of their past. It was in fact in a quick, poorly thought out attempt to help the Monastery's newest professor. Seteth pauses behind the chair the blanket is laid out on. It has been a few days since Jeralt's passing. Byleth has rarely left her room, let alone fulfill her responsibilities to the monastery. Even as she spoke to Rhea there was a lack of care. Different from the ignorance she had displayed when first arriving. This wasn't deliberate, but still a direct result of Jeralt's actions.

A part of Seteth is mourning his lost, of course he is. He isn't a monster after all. Jeralt and he had only known each other for a few months. They also rarely spoke about matters outside of those related to the Monastery. So when he heard of his death it did not strike him as deeply as it had Rhea. Though even her mourning seemed easily pushed aside compared to Byleths. It's not easy losing a parent. That's one truth Seteth is very aware of. Though that loss never struck him as hard as it had Rhea. In that matter alone he had expected Jeralt's passing to bring the two closer, Byleth and herself. Instead it caused the former to put more distance between them. That alone was enough to cause Rhea even more distress then the death had.

Which cause Seteth a great deal of concern. Unsure of what to do he resorted to reconsidering all he knows about the Eisners. Rhea had hidden many things from him. Actions and tests she refused to share even after his return. Results she can not lose. Not again. So review he did, and there was still little to go on. Hanneman had been allowed to study Byleth freely. She had even given him permission to do so. Still there was nothing. No clues as to what may help her through this time. It sent him down a rabbit hole that ended when he recalled a piece of advice she had actually given him.

It was a silly note. Flayn had been through so much, what with the kidnapping, her classes, a growing feeling of isolation she had confided in him about. So he did what everyone seemed to be doing. Leaving an anonymous note in the church's box. Only one person had responded and she recommended a warm blanket. It wasn't something that Flayn would enjoy. He had been expecting an idea concerning fish, or sweets. Perhaps a recommendation of a gift she had told a friend she wanted. Something she may consider to embarrassing to ask him for. A warm blanket just wasn't anything. The writing made it clear that it was Byleth who had wrote the response. So he pulled out an old blanket, set it on a chair in front of his hearth, and has been waiting patiently for it to be warm enough to take to her.

After two hours it finally is. Quietly Seteth folds the blanket up, and walks out into the cold air. Briskly he makes his way back to the monastery and Byleth's door. It's easy to forget how long the walk is since he usually is coming to or from the second level of the monastery. With his and Flayn's rooms further away on the opposite end of the churches property. Still he makes it, and the blanket is still warm to his touch as he arrives.

"Professor?" Seteth could hear the ticking of a clock as minutes pass. There's no answer. Purposefully he raps his knuckles against the door again.

"Professor Byleth?"

From behind the door there's a heavy thud. Nothing that would suggest a body crashing into the ground. Whatever made that sound, Byleth must be aware. Unless someone else was in her room. No student would dare, surely! Save for the unsavory ones. That Sylvain was suspicious with the women in and outside of the monastery. Even he would be wary of entering a professor's room though. Unless they were trying to play some sort of trick on their new mentor. The warm blanket starts to grow colder over his arm.

Having effectively worked himself up, Seteth knocks again.

"Byleth!" Furiously, fighting back his panic, his fist slams against her door.

Finally there's a sound. After thirty solid seconds of him knocking a quiet squeak greets him. Confusion holds his hand mid-way. In one brief moment the door opens. Byleth greets him with tired red eyes and a sleepy face. Dream sand clings to the edges of her eyelashes. Their grainy appearance draws one's attention down, comparing them to the dried trails of tears that were no longer there.

"Seteth?" It's the first time she's ever said his name. Her voice is so shaken. For once Byleth didn't seem so sure of anything. There's a new expression on her face. Not one of any real emotion or depth but confusion. A different kind then what had left him standing there, one arm in the air, poised to keep striking against wood. Though to her dark eyes it must look as if he intends to strike at her.

"Ah!" Quickly, perhaps too much so, Seteth pulls him arm back. Pushing it roughly back under the blanket he had handle so tenderly earlier. "You looked quite upset."

Her confusion dissolves into her usual empty expression.

"And considering all that has happened recently, you being just upset would be quite surprising." Seteth looks down at the still warm, brown blanket folded over his arms. It's losing that warmth he took so much care to instill into it. Just as he was losing all his courage. This seems foolish now, upon retrospection. Hindsight has always been twenty/twenty.

"So I decided to come and check on you. I hope it isn't too late. If you were sleeping then I apologize for waking you."

"You didn't." Messy green hair calls out her blatant lie.

"That is good to know." Seteth forces his lips into a polite smile. Surely it's just the heat from the blanket making his hands sweat. It would be best to just give her the gift and leave. He could step away right now. How many times has she handed him a gift before just walking away? More then a dozen by now at least. Once a month he can expect a gift with a pair of feet dashing away.

He doesn't want to leave like that. It's not his way. Perhaps that makes him old fashion. She doesn't seem to mind it. The two of them, standing here, silently, just watching each other. All of the stars in the sky could crash right now. Sothis could appear right behind her shoulder, and Rhea might be calling for him right now, but he'd stay in this moment. There's an air of peace around Byleth. Even when she's at her lowest she never loses that uncanny ability of hers. Guilt smacks him in the back of his head. Now was not the time to find comfort in her prescence but to attempt to offer it himself.

"When I asked you about what to get for Flayn," Byleth raises an eyebrow. "It was a couple months ago now, but surely," Seteth stops himself. A lot has happened. It really shouldn't seem so surprising that she doesn't remember. "Nevermind. My point being that you suggested a warm blanket."

"Yes." Seteth blinks in surprise. That didn't sound like a question. So did she remember?

"Yes," he repeats automatically. "And since I don't know much about you," though to be fair she doesn't even seem to know much about herself. "I thought perhaps you were suggesting something that helps yourself after a trying time. Since there are few moments more devastating then losing someone close to you it seemed most appropriate to offer this now."

He holds out the blanket with a practiced calm. She could turn him away. Claim it was just something she has seen others do, but a practice entirely uninteresting to herself. Solemnly an owl calls out above them. It's cry a little hollow. Is it too in mourning? Has it also lost someone so close that there's now a hole in it's beating heart as well? Does it know how Byleth feels right now? Perhaps they were companions of the soul, sharing this moment of grief together. It wouldn't be the first time an animal had such a profound connection to one of the many living souls in this world.

Byleth doesn't take notice of the owl. Her eyes never wander away from his face. Dead, and distant. Can she even comprehend the words he speaks? Has this death caused such a separation in herself that even the world is starting to feel distant? Or is this just Byleth being, well herself. When one of them finally moves it's Byleth. With a step back she cuts through this fog of doubt. This complete and utter confusion making him question himself. Why was he so determined to do this? Surely now she will turn him away. He can leave the blanket and turn tail. 

"Would you like to come in?"

"It is late. I meant only to drop off this gift." Now the blanket was barely warm against his extremely sweaty hands.

"You've come all this way. Your room is far." Simple statements, yet they get her point across.

"Ah that is true." He could feel his smile faltering as Byleth moves out of the door way. "Thank you."

Byleth leaves the door open just a crack behind him. Her room was shrouded in utter and complete darkness. If he were a normal human it'd be impossible for him to see a thing. Thankfully his eyesight is sharp. Enough so that he can see Byleth easily navigate her room despite the lack of light. It was almost as if the night didn't affect her ability to see at all either. Glancing around, he could see her blanket half hanging off the bed. It's twisted into a mess of knots one does not make when they had been sleeping peacefully. On the floor close to the door, is a blue book. That must've been what he had heard. It only takes a moment more of searching to find it's natural place on top of her desk. How it ended up so far across her room, he isn't sure. Though another soul may just assume the work of spirits. There have been plenty of reports of the dead running around as of late.

Light appears like a flower blooming in the early dawn. It threatens to blind his curious eyes. Quickly he looks down at his feet. Now she can see him clearly just standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. What she must think of him. Acting like a dazed child. Summoning his courage he looks back up. He was a leader of the church. Right hand of Rhea. Her hands shake as she lifts the candle holder.

Without warning she closes the tiny gap of room between them. Leaning in, her head almost touches his chin. Having her so suddenly close makes him nervous. His heart skips a beat. How strange this would look to an outsider. They could almost seem like old friends with the way they're standing right now. Though most may assume they were closer, given the time of night, and their location. Truly he hadn't expected the blanket to take so long to warm. Now it's barely warmer then himself.

Seteth calms a little as she rubs her hand across the brown blanket. She just wanted to feel it. That is all. There is no reason for him to feel so nervous. So he shall not. Closing his eyes, he takes a steadying breath. "Professor I do not wish to impose,"

"The blanket," she starts, as if it wasn't already clear what she was doing. "It's not that warm."

"Well I was waiting outside for longer then I had expected. That and the walk from my room to yours is quite far. Flayn and I stay on the other side of the Monastery. Closer to where many of the orphans are housed."

Her head bobs up and down. He can not tell if she was agreeing, or simply still drowsy.

"I lied." Her hand stops on the part of the blanket above his own.

"I could tell."

For an instant her mouth opens. The edges of her upper lip curl as if in a smile. He assumes she was going to laugh but she quickly closes her mouth instead. That ghost of a smile vanishes. Just like that Seteth doubts his eyes. Were they seeing what he wanted? Seeking out any sign of mirth in a person who's been so detached as of late. Byleth has always seem distant, but before the lost of Jeralt it was an otherworldly kind of feeling. As if the realm beyond their own called out to her constantly. Rhea once mentioned Sothis when she spoke of Byleth. It clicked something in his mind, worrying him deeply. A small fear that perhaps it was Sothis who was calling out to Byleth. It's ridiculous thinking the dead goddess would call to anyone. Especially a stranger who has no connection to the Nabateans.

Still there's something under all that distance. Even now as she stares unceasingly up at him that feeling scratches under the skin of his hands. Slowly crawling up his arms, forever inching upwards. Preparing to whisper secrets and more ridiculous fears into his ears. The longer he stares the closer he feels to home. Their home, before Nemesis came and laid waste to it all. Before Seiros rose up from it's ashes, and his brothers were all that were left.

"Seteth, have you ever lost anyone?"

The answer must've been obvious on his face, because Byleth frowns deeply in thought after asking it. If she believes the lie of Flayn being his sister instead of daughter then it wouldn't be difficult for her to assume their parents were dead. If somehow she had learned the truth then his known loss would be even greater, but no where close to the entire truth still. Coping with death has never been easy. Dealing with a loss as wholly consuming as it destroys your personality, an individual's entire feeling of self, and then the body, but never gracing them with the finality of death. That is how he lost his brothers. It is why he and Flayn hid away for so long. To avoid using their powers. To keep from becoming like the others. When Seiros asked them to go to war, he did. Grief and fear pushed him so far back then. Will it do the same to Byleth? Is she some sort of spiritual ancestor to everything they had been?

"I am not here to talk about my grief." Carefully he grabs the blanket. Raising it up inbetween them, Seteth examines the cloth intently. "Oh it's gone cold. I'm sorry Byleth. I only meant to try and offer a bit of peace of mine."

"I understand."

Surprised Seteth meets her gaze. She rests a hand over his own.

"That's why you told me about the Tomas and Monica connections when I stopped by."

"Ah, indeed. I thought-"

"That if I knew it was being looked into that it would bring some peace. As long as I had a job, a duty to fulfill that it could be enough to pull me back out of this all consuming emptiness."

Apathy? He knew she was grieving but to feel entirely empty. Seteth never thought she'd be that shaken up.

"I understand Seteth. It's not what I needed but you were helping in your own way." But had it really been any help at all?

He almost asks that exact question. It stops on the tip of his tongue. Practically screaming to be asked. To seek some sort of answer. Whether it be validation or confirmation of his worries. She turns away as his internal struggle remains unresolved.

Without a word, she drops the candle into her fireplace. Almost instantly the wood catches flame. Moments pass and as she holds her hand out above the fire it grows. Flaring up, reaching towards her hand, Byleth tilts her head towards the hearth. Not even the possibility of getting burnt scares her. Seteth finds himself frozen still. Why do words elude him so, whenever he's around her?

Perhaps it's because she doesn't need any to convey her intentions. Silently Byleth pulls away from the flames. Sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, her knees almost touch the loose metal fencing separating herself from the burning wood. Unfolding the blanket, she wraps it around her shoulders. Casually, as if there was nothing out of place with this behavior she holds out half of the blanket away from herself. Dressed along her outstretched arm. She sits, watching him with what he knows is a smile this time. Beckoning silently, Seteth finds himself taking her up on her offer.

Taking the corner of the blanket from the palm of her hand, he smiles back at her. It's small, practiced. The way he smiled for all those months at his brothers after the loss of her. The only difference now, is she can see past that. Somehow, Byleth knows that it's out of formality more so then nerves. He wraps the blanket over his own shoulder and mimics her position.

As soon as he on the floor Byleth folds in on herself. Bringing her legs, uncrossed, knees up to her chest. She moves her corner of the blanket so it's tucked between her arm and cheek. Flames dance in her eyes. The figures he used to see, conjure some life back into those sad, lonely eyes.

Silently the night passes by like that. Byleth staring into the fire. Perhaps dreaming of the past or future. Most likely visiting apparitions of those who are gone. All the while Seteth watches her out of the corner of his eyes. Curious. Yet worried too. Hoping this silent company is enough. Eventually, the steady sound of crackling wood lulls her to sleep. Surprisingly Seteth found himself to peace enough to fall into dreams due to the owl's soft hooting.

In the morning people will have questions. Rumors may even arise. It could cause issues if people were to believe something untoward occurred. Especially with her being a first-time professor hired on the spot due to Rhea's well-known favor of her.

Still, somehow, they each had found something akin to peace in each other's company that night. With the sun they both rose together. Seteth without a word back to his office, and Byleth finally able to face her students again. Even if he could go back, Seteth would do it over. Perhaps even stopping by sooner so they could enjoy the warmth they captured in that blanket from the fire, longer. Anything at all just to glimpse that smile on her face as she sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> You can make requests but I won't write smut.


End file.
